Far Away
by scarlet79
Summary: Shot down by the Wraith, Sheppard's jumper crashes, leaving him stranded on a strange planet. Injured, he must survive alone, hoping that rescue is on its way. Upgraded to T for language. Now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Hi, Guys! New Story! YAY! I know it's been a while since I uploaded anything...been busy as usual. Argh! Anyway, here's a little thingy I wrote a while ago, that's been sitting half-done on my PC. I'm gonna finish it I swear...and if I don't may I be spank-uh, slapped-by none other than the famous John Sheppard! Heh heh..._

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><p>Chapter One<p>

"Atlantis, this is Jumper Two. The drive pods have been damaged, and I'm making an emergency landing on the nearest planet."

Lt. Col. John Sheppard looked up at the HUD, intending to find the planet's designation, but the Jumper was shaking too much for him to make any sense of what was on the screen. Desperately, he reached out with his mind for control, but it was no use; the Jumper was on a collision course with the green-and-brown – but mostly brown – planet suspended beneath him, and there was little he could do to stop it.

Hurtling through the planet's atmosphere, Sheppard could feel the interior of the Jumper heating up, the air becoming hot and sticky.

"Come on," he urged as he pulled up on the yoke, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Ever so slightly, the Jumper began to level out, her nose pointing more toward the horizon than the ground. As he stared out at the blazing sunset, flashes of his friends' faces crossed his mind, starting with Aiden Ford, who he'd lost years ago, and ending with Dr. Rodney McKay. The genius physicist was who John considered his best friend – one almost close enough to call his brother. Though McKay had a huge ego, it was clear to those who knew him well that he also possessed a large heart, often putting aside his own well-being in order to help someone else. He would never admit it, of course – his pride was also just as large – but his friends knew it was true.

_I could use that ego right about now_, Sheppard thought as he watched the planet's surface rushing ever closer to him. _Or even Teyla's hand on my shoulder_. Glancing over at the passenger's seat, he felt a sudden hollowness when he saw she wasn't there. It was strange to see the seat empty; as recently as a few days ago, she had resumed her role as his "navigator", sitting beside him and chatting about anything. He often used the excuse of needing her unique expertise in negotiating with a planet's merchants, when all he really wanted was to hear her voice, or feel her touch when he started to doze off and she nudged him awake.

The Jumper's bottom began to skim the trees on the planet, their branches scraping across the metal hull with a screeching sound. Sheppard winced and then shifted all his weight back into the chair, pulling the yoke along with him. Though his hands and arms shook against the resistance and sweat stood out on his forehead, he managed to keep the ship from spinning and crashing nose-first into the dirt. He steered her over a large body of water, taking note of certain landmarks along the way, and as he reached the further shore, he swerved around a tall, jagged rock, one that reminded him of the central tower of Atlantis.

_Home_, he thought then, homesickness creating yet another void in his heart. Atlantis seemed too far away at the moment, but he pushed the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand.

Then, to make things even worse, the HUD suddenly blinked off, followed by every light inside the Jumper. He no longer heard the hum of the engines, the beep of the proximity sensor, nor could he feel the mental connection he shared with every piece of Ancient technology; it was as if the entire ship had just died, right there in the air.

"Oh, crap," Sheppard muttered, just before he was thrown forward into the control panel. His head slammed against the panel, and his vision swam, then turned completely black.

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><p>The smell of smoke woke Sheppard at last, but he soon found that he could only open one eye. Puzzled, he tried to reach up to touch it, but his wrist burned with such severe pain that he cried out and cradled the hand to his chest. It wasn't broken, he guessed, but probably pretty badly sprained. Deciding he'd rather not experience that again, he gingerly tried his other hand, and found that it was a little sore, but useable. He poked at his eye, and was relieved to know it was still there. It had been stuck shut by dried blood, blood that had trickled down his face from the gash on his forehead.<p>

Though every muscle cried out, he forced himself to sit up, only to realize that he had been lying on the Jumper's front windshield, which meant that the ship had indeed taken a nose-dive, and the rear section was now sticking straight up in the air. The tempered glass of the windshield had broken on impact, and a medium-sized shard had pierced Sheppard's left leg, right through the side of his calf. Blood flowed sluggishly down his leg, and every move he made caused the wound to throb.

Though his vision was wobbly, Sheppard reached down with his good hand and gently tugged on the fragment of glass. He managed to pull it halfway out before he began to see stars, and was forced to stop before he passed out again. After a short rest, he tried again. Ignoring the way his leg began to shake, he finally pulled the glass free, growling as the wound throbbed violently. Fresh blood coursed down his leg to puddle on the ground beneath him, and he looked around for something to use as a bandage. Seeing nothing, he huffed and then looked down at his black t-shirt. It was already partly torn, no doubt from all the broken glass he'd landed on.

_Better than nothing_, he thought as he began to rip it open. It took him a little while to free the arm with the sprained wrist, but soon he had a ragged piece of cloth in his lap, which he then took and tore into two smaller pieces. One he tied around his leg, pulling it just tight enough to help stop the bleeding, but not so tight that it cut off his circulation. He considered using the other strip as a sling for his arm, but then decided against it. Though his hand was out of commission for now, he could still use his arm, and if he ever wanted to leave the Jumper, he would need its full range of motion. Then, he remembered his eye, stuck shut with dried blood. Since the Jumpers were regrettably lacking in terms of running water, he used the only thing he had, and spit on the rag a few times to get it wet enough. A half-grin made it to his face as he recalled the way his mother would do much the same, only with a napkin instead. Holding his face still with one hand, she would scrub at whatever offending mark she had found on him. Finally, it would be gone, the only evidence of its former presence a slight pink mark where the scratchy napkin had rubbed against his skin, and she would smile at him, ruffling his hair as she stood up. He never liked anyone else touching his hair but her. She could ruffle it all day and he wouldn't mind.

Pushing the memories away, he stuffed the rag into his pocket, in case he should need it later. Looking around, he caught sight of the edge of his flannel shirt, which he packed in case it got cold wherever they went, and he carefully shook it out, then slipped his injured hand through the sleeve first. Once that was done, it was fairly easy for him to pull it on the rest of the way, though he only managed to button the bottom three buttons before his good hand became sore and tired. He decided it didn't matter if he did the rest or not; there was no one around to see his bare chest, anyway.

Sheppard stopped then to take stock of his situation. Every so often, sparks showered down on him from the rear section's control panel, its wires all frayed and uncomfortably close to touching one another. The smoke he had smelled earlier had now almost filled the Jumper, as well as his lungs, making him cough harshly. The Jumper was definitely damaged beyond repair, and from all Rodney's techno-babble, he knew that if those electrical wires happened to touch in just the wrong way, the whole Jumper could explode, even if there was no power.

_"Any residual power stored in the buffers would be enough,"_ Rodney had told him once, when they were in the middle of yet another "suicide mission". _"All it takes is a spark, and...well..."_

Sheppard had nodded then. He'd known exactly what McKay had meant. Looking up at the wires, he found himself nodding again. He had to get out of there; the sooner, the better.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his knees, carefully avoiding sticking his hand into the shattered glass, and then attempted to stand. His leg protested, however, and he fell back to his knees, panting from the exertion.

"Come on, John. Let's go," he ordered himself aloud, if only to break the silence around him. After three more failed tries, he gave up on standing, settling instead for dragging himself up and out of the Jumper. It was difficult for him to pull his body up through the rear hatch, which had no doubt blown off in the crash, but as soon as his head poked out of the opening, he relished in the cool, clean air that filled his lungs. He took a few deep breaths, then continued to struggle out of the upturned ship, using only his right arm and his left elbow. He paused to rest on the edge of the hatch, then dropped over the side, again growling in pain as his leg made hard contact with the ground. Now seated beside the Jumper, he could see the full extent of the damage the Wraith weapons had caused. The drive pod on this side looked completely burnt, the charred metal twisted outward in star-burst patterns of different sizes. He didn't need to see the other pod to know that it most likely looked just as bad.

Sheppard wondered if the Wraith had seen him heading for the planet, and he quickly scanned the area around him for any sign of movement. Next, he peered at the sky above, both watching and listening for the approach of any Darts. It was silent, at least for now, and he let himself lay back on the ground, the long grass tickling the back of his neck. Again, he found himself wishing that Teyla was there, as she could sense the Wraith long before they could be seen. Of course, she would also be chiding him for wrapping his wound so sloppily, and for not taking the time to disinfect it. He thought of her standing there, her tiny hands on her hips, a disapproving glare in her dark brown eyes, and he smiled despite the homesickness that came crowding back inside him. He would happily let her yell at him for hours, if only she were here with him right now.

As he looked up a second time, he realized that the sun was setting, which meant that he had very little time to get a fire going, and even less time to figure out some type of shelter for the night. He made himself stand, trying to ignore the searing pain in his leg, and quickly grabbed a few light-colored stones that he spied scattered around the ground. In case anyone – like Rodney, and hopefully _not_ like the Wraith – came looking for him, he set them into an arrow shape, pointing toward a stand of trees, where he decided to camp for the night. Grabbing his tac vest and backpack, which he'd snagged on the way out of the Jumper, he set off toward the forest. It was already getting dark under the canopy of trees, so he walked less than a hundred yards in, found a good, level spot for his camp, and dropped his belongings there. Most of the downed branches he found there were dry, so he began collecting them. He had to make quite a few limping trips back and forth through the forest to get enough wood for the whole night, but when he was done, there was a fairly nice pile of branches set up in the shape of a tepee, and another larger pile sat a few yards away, waiting for their turn on the fire.

Sheppard eased himself to the ground and pulled a box of matches out of his tac vest. Under the wood "tepee" was a handful of dry pine needles, perfect for tinder, but just to be sure, Sheppard had shoved a few scraps of paper in between the sticks. He touched a match first to the needles, then the paper, and sighed in relief as they immediately caught, first smoking and then sparking. Before long, the fire had spread to the logs, the flames licking almost waist-high, and he set about getting his shelter ready.

There was a large boulder a few feet from the fire, roughly eight or nine feet high and just about as wide, and as it was just close enough for him to stay warm, but not near enough for any stray sparks to reach him, he decided that it could serve as a good windbreak. Sheppard pulled a bundle of rope out of his pack, then realized that he had nothing to string over him for a tent. There was a tarp packed in the Jumper, in the cargo net on the left bulkhead, but there was no way he was going back to get it. Setting the rope aside, he dug into the pack and found a thin blanket, one he had packed for a picnic with Teyla and her son, Torren, on the mainland a week ago. Figuring that it would have to do, he set it nearby and searched for his canteen, which was usually clipped to his vest. Not today, however. Sheppard remembered taking a swig from it shortly before the Wraith had attacked him. He'd set it down on the floor beside his seat, too busy with the readings on the HUD to put it back.

Groaning, Sheppard decided instead to check on his leg. He cautiously loosened the t-shirt bandage, and was glad to see that the bleeding had slowed greatly. There was no way to know if it was infected, but he couldn't do anything about it either way. In the morning, he would find the body of water he'd noticed earlier and try to clean the wound out as best as he could. Right now, though, all he wanted to do was sleep. Rubbing a hand through his perpetually-messy hair, Sheppard poked at the fire, stoking it up nice and hot, then scooted back until his back was almost touching the boulder. Using his pack as a pillow, he wrapped the picnic blanket around himself and closed his eyes.

He was asleep in moments.

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Look for my AN at the end of this chapter...I didn't wanna ruin the story ahead of time._

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

When Sheppard's eyes opened again, it was well into noon the next day. The sun was right overhead, its rays trying to poke through the dense forest to reach him. He lay there for a while after he woke, content to simply take in everything around him. There was some kind of frog nearby, its chirping song reminding him of the Spring Peepers back on Earth. Various birds also called from their perches high in the trees, sometimes squabbling over whatever fruit and nuts they had found there.

The slight breeze brought the smell of both flowers and berries, and the latter made Sheppard's stomach growl impatiently. Reluctant to disturb the tranquility around him, he took his time sitting up, grimacing at the knot in his back, one that he had most likely gotten from sleeping on the hard ground. As he pushed himself to his feet, he noted that the pain in his leg had grown worse, and he feared that it was indeed infected. If he wanted to keep the limb, he would have to find that lake and wash the wound out, as he'd planned. Breakfast would just have to wait.

"Damn," he growled, having been looking forward to the sweet taste of wild berries. His fire had died down during the night and morning, and now was little more than coals. Sheppard kicked some fresh dirt over it, sufficiently putting it out. Forgetting his injury, he reached for his vest with his left hand, immediately dropping it as pain shot up his arm. Cursing loud enough for his voice to echo off the trees, he grabbed the vest with his right hand and slung it over his shoulder, then did the same with his pack before heading to where the lake was located.

He worked his way through the forest slowly, taking ample time to rest his leg and catch his breath. The trees soon became repetitive, each looking identical to the last, so he busied his mind with thoughts of his friends rather than the scenery. As of this moment, he could honestly say he missed sparring with Ronon, even though the sessions ended with Sheppard laying flat on his back, looking up at the large, dread-locked man. He wondered if they had even gotten his message, if they had decided that he'd been gone long enough and begun looking for him yet. Ronon would probably be clamoring to take the lead by now, arguing that if he were in Sheppard's position, Sheppard would be out "there", looking for him. Sheppard agreed with that; he had indeed done much the same thing already, when the Wraith had taken Ronon to be a runner for a second time. Of course, they had barely made it off of Sateda – Ronon's home planet – alive, but they had made it all the same, and with a grateful Ronon in tow.

The next time Sheppard stopped to rest, he stomped his boot hard into the ground, leaving an unmistakable boot-print in the soft dirt. If Ronon happened to show up, he would definitely notice and follow it. As would Teyla, he realized then. She had spent a lot of time in the woods before she had met Sheppard, and as she had explained to him one night as they walked the East Pier, her father had taught her much about tracking, in the hopes that she would be able to distinguish between a Wraith track and one of her own people. Due to her father's intensive training, her eye was much sharper than most, and she could often see things that others could not.

A bird suddenly squawked nearby, making him jump. Frowning self-consciously, he glanced up and saw the bird, sitting only a few feet overhead, its head tilted and its black eye peering cautiously back down at him.

"You mind not giving me a heart attack?" He asked the bird, who squawked again and then used its dark orange beak to preen its emerald-green feathers. Sheppard watched her – he decided that it must be female, to be so concerned with its looks – for a while before he started off again for the lake. On the way, he ended up finding more berries, and he allowed himself to stop and collect a few handfuls. He ate them as he walked, the dark purple juice staining his fingertips like the ink from an exploded pen, but they tasted so good, he didn't care. Too soon, they were gone, and he found himself thirsty, his throat dry and scratchy.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to find the lake, the trail he was on ended, and he stared down at the water from atop a fairly high drop-off. The wind ruffled his hair, and he suddenly took a step back, fearful that the edge of the cliff would crumble away, taking him down with it. He scanned the cliff face for any way to get down and finally saw a more gently-sloping path, about a mile to his left. Glad that he would not have to resort to climbing down the wall of the cliff, he headed for the path, though his pace had slowed considerably since he had begun. His leg wound felt tight and hot, and he grimaced at the pain in each step.

"Great," he muttered, and was echoed by a familiar squawk. Even as he knew what he'd see, he looked at a branch above his left shoulder. Sure enough, the parrot-like bird sat near him, her eyes bright with curiosity. At first, he tried to ignore her, simply walking in the direction of the path he'd seen. He figured that once he was out of sight, she would forget about him again. However, the bird kept pace with him, hopping from one branch to another, giving a little whistle now and then. Finally, he gave in, and plopped down on a fallen log near the cliff's edge. Slowly, he raised his hand toward the bird, inviting her to come to him, and she whistled once before fluttering gently down to him. Her rough feet curled around his fingers, the claws on their ends only just touching his skin, and she bent down to rub her bright beak on his shirt. He was pretty sure it meant that she liked him, so he smiled and said, "Thanks. I like you, too."

The bird climbed from his hand up his arm, and when she had reached his shoulder, she gave a happy-sounding whistle. As her claws poked at the ticklish spot near his collarbone, Sheppard chuckled aloud as he thought about what kind of horrid pirate he must look like – his leg was torn open, his left arm tucked against his chest, there was a huge gash on his forehead, his plaid flannel shirt hung halfway open, its sleeves tattered from thorns and briars, and now, there was a green parrot sitting on his right shoulder.

_Speaking of the bird_, Sheppard thought as he finally got going again, _she needs a name_.

_How about the obvious, Polly?_ He stopped short at that, as the voice he'd heard hadn't been his own, but Rodney's. Was he finally going crazy, he wondered. Then, he shook his head. It was more likely that he missed his team so much, that he was just imagining what they would say if they were there.

As he walked, he continued testing a few names out, but none of them sounded right. "Let's see," he said aloud as he stepped over a large fallen branch, "you're very bright-colored, and seem pretty smart."

The bird chirped and ruffled her feathers, and he chuckled. "And a little vain, it seems." His mind scanned through the list of baby names Nancy had drilled into his head years ago, when she'd begged to start a family. Back then, he hadn't wanted one – kids were so much work, and he had thought that he would be away for long periods of time – it wouldn't have been fair to her to be stuck with a baby, alone, for weeks or months at a time. Finally, she had given up asking and simply withdrew from him, first emotionally, and then physically.

"Molly," he murmured then. "It was always my favorite. It's close to Polly, I know, but Molly always reminded me of red hair. And, my mom's nickname was Molly." The parrot whistled and rubbed her beak against his stubbled cheek, and he smiled. "Molly it is, then."

Finally, he reached the gently-sloping path he'd seen earlier, and he started down to the lake, anxious to feel the cool water on his skin. He tripped over a root and nearly fell face-first into the dirt, but he managed to grab onto a tree trunk, effectively catching himself. Molly had flown off of his shoulder as soon as he'd tripped, hovering just nearby until he regained his footing. His leg was beginning to burn even worse, the tightness having traveled all the way up to his hip, and he was forced to flop into a meadow halfway down the path. Both hands grabbed at his pant-leg, as if their mere touch could drive away the pain, and his eyes squeezed shut against the bright sunlight as he lay there, suddenly feeling very hot and sweaty. He involuntarily rolled from side to side, willing the searing pain away, and hot tears dripped down his temples. Molly landed close by, her dark eyes watching his every move. She squawked and backed up when his hand suddenly flailed out, his palm getting cut up by the sharp saw-grass he was unknowingly grasping at, but as the pain slowly ebbed, she moved close again.

Panting, Sheppard lay there in the grass, his hands still resting on his leg. Sweat ran down his face and neck, and he rubbed his eyes against the shoulder of his shirt before it could run into them and burn them. He was aware of a soft, chirruping noise, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Molly sitting on the ground beside him, her beak slightly open. As soon as she saw his eyes were open, the noise stopped, and she waited expectantly for him to stand, so that she could resume her usual position on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Molly," he said quietly, and she bobbed her head but continued waiting. He understood what she wanted him to do, but he no longer had the strength to oblige her. The searing pain had gone, but it had been replaced by a slow, dull ache, and he knew that if he tried to stand again, it would return with a vengeance. Despite the heat of the day, he had recently begun to shiver, the sweat pouring off his body chilling him as well as if he'd been back in Antarctica. He didn't need to look at his leg to know it was infected, and that if help didn't come soon, he would die out here.

_No_, his mind shouted at him then. _You will not give up! You didn't come this far, see and do all the things you have, just to lay here and die. Get up!_

He tried, but his leg refused to let him. Sheppard slammed his fist against the dirt, cursing the Wraith. If they hadn't damaged his Jumper, he wouldn't be in this mess right now. He'd be home on Atlantis, sleeping in his bed, warm and cozy, instead of lying here, his body broken, so tired he could barely move. Angry, he pounded the ground again, and was not surprised at the rush of adrenaline he suddenly felt through his veins. Now more determined than ever to get up, he let out a loud shout, releasing through it all the feelings he'd held in for so long. As the echo died away, he looked around for the bird, afraid that he'd frightened her away. The sudden noise must not have bothered her, for a moment later, he found her perched on a rock nearby. When she saw him looking at her, she cocked her head to the side and squawked loudly, as if she were imitating his hollering. Sheppard grinned and pushed himself to his knees.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He asked her, and she bobbed her head, drawing a chuckle from him. "You got that right. Now, let's get our asses down to that water, okay?"

Molly chirped, and as soon as he was on his feet, she flitted to him, carefully settling once more on his shoulder. Sheppard limped slowly down the path, his eyes watching for any flash of blue water ahead of him. A few times, he tried to stop and rest, but Molly nipped at his ear each time, telling him to keep moving. The last time, she'd nibbled him hard enough to draw blood, and he cried out and swatted her off his shoulder. She flew to a nearby boulder, her gaze surprised, and he felt instantly guilty. He held out his hand to her, but she would not come to him.

"I'm sorry, Molly," he apologized, even as he felt silly for talking to a bird and expecting her to understand. "It just surprised me, that's all."

After a moment's consideration, Molly bobbed her head and flew back to him. When she was situated, he turned his head slightly so he could see her, and said, "If you promise to stop biting me, I'll promise not to try and stop anymore. Okay?"

The bird chirped, and he nodded. "Okay."

Finally, three hours from when he'd stood at the top of the cliff, he burst out into a clearing and skidded to a stop, as he found himself staring at the sapphire-blue water of the lake. So relieved he could have cried, he hurried toward its glassy surface as fast as he could, not bothering to stop to remove his ragged clothes. When he was waist-deep in the water, Molly flew from him to wait on the beach, and he ducked his head under the surface, feeling the water wash away all the dirt and grime from his warm skin. He came back up gasping, the cold of the water nearly taking his breath away, but at that point, he didn't care. All that mattered was that he was wet and cool, and as soon as he boiled some of the lake water, he'd have something to drink. Turning onto his back, he floated on the surface, his arms stretched out at his sides. His boots were heavy and kept dragging his legs downward, and he supposed he should have at least removed them, but it was too late now. He was enjoying the water too much to get out now.

He lay there for a while, letting his pores soak up every drop that they could, and then rolled over and dove underwater again. His hand brushed against something scaly, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that it was just a small fish. The water was so clear that he could see the bottom ten feet below him, the sandy clay a light tan color. A few freshwater mussels were scattered across the bottom, their dark shells as far from camouflaged as they could get, and as soon as he saw them, his stomach grumbled. Breaking the surface just long enough to get a good amount of air in his lungs, Sheppard swam down to the bottom and collected a handful of the mussels, stuffing them into the pockets of his flannel shirt for safe keeping.

Slowly, he made his way back to the shore, feeling the tension in his muscles draining away. It was the best he'd felt in days, and he was reluctant to abandon that state now. But the sun was setting again, and he had yet to set up a fire or shelter. As he lazed in the water, he scanned the shoreline for any natural caves, but the cliffs were solid, and he guessed he would have to do as he had the night before – build a nice fire, and use the cliffs as a sort of heat-reflector to keep him warm. He could see the dark, twisting outlines of driftwood spread out on the beach; it would make good wood for a fire, but as it burned quickly, he'd need quite a bit of it.

A few moments later, he dropped onto the shore, exhausted yet happy. The sand clung to his wet skin and clothes, but he simply brushed his hands off on his pants and lay back, scarcely remembering his aching wounds. Molly gave a disapproving cluck as she landed nearby, and he grinned. "Shoulda named you 'Teyla'. You sound just like her."

Molly tipped her head, but remained silent. Sheppard sat up and peeled off his flannel, letting it fall in a heap on the beach. One of the mussels fell out of it, and Molly poked at it with her beak. Sheppard laughed and gently took it from her. Shoving it back into the shirt's pocket, he said, "You don't want that. I'll find you some fruit later."

He unlaced his black boots and kicked them off, tipping them upside-down to drain the water from them. Then, he stripped off his pants, careful to avoid the large wound on his leg. As soon as the bare skin of his leg was revealed, his heart dropped into his stomach. The wound itself was larger than he had originally thought, more than five inches long, its edges red and jagged. There was a fair amount of dirt and debris in the wound, and when he touched the skin around the gash, he had to hold in a shout of pain. Infection was beginning to spread from the wound, radiating both up-and-down as well as sideways, wrapping around his calf like the strands of a spider web and spiraling up to his thigh. His shivering had stopped, but that could be due to the hot sun beating down on him, drying his skin before it had a chance to chill him. Pressing a hand to his forehead, he could still feel the warmth of fever there, and he frowned deeply.

Sheppard pulled his combat knife from his backpack and removed the sheath. The sun's light glinted off the blade, reflecting onto the sand at his feet. He dug the blade into the sand, then pulled the spare rag from his pants' pocket and slung it over his shoulder. He tried to find the mug he carried in his pack, but there were too many things in the way, so he dumped the entire pack onto the ground. The mug lay there on top, and he grabbed it and took it down to the water's edge, filling it with cool, clear lake water. Molly flew alongside him as he carried the mug back up the beach, then landed on top of his pack and watched him closely. He set the mug down next to the knife, lowered himself until he was seated in the warm sand, and tossed a half-hearted grin at his bird.

"Here goes nothing."

Molly whistled.

Sheppard picked up the knife and took a deep breath, steadying himself. Before he could change his mind, he slid the blade into the wound on his leg and then pushed it down toward his ankle, opening the scab that had begun to form. As fresh blood poured down his calf, his breath came out in a hiss, smothering the scream that wanted to escape. He pulled the knife out, turned the blade upside-down, and had just touched the tip to his skin, when his vision suddenly began to swim. His head felt like lead, his eyelids drooping closed of their own accord, and he knew he was about to pass out.

"Molly," he called, as the dagger slid from his hand and his torso fell back against the sand, "help."

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><p><em>TBC...<em>

_AN: Okay, first, sorry about the cliffie. I couldn't help it._

_Second, the bird, Molly, is modeled after one that I used to have as a pet when I was a teenager. She was an Indian Ring-Necked Parakeet named Markie...I loved her green feathers and bright orange beak...she looked so exotic. I thought she'd make a good friend for Shep, as she was very patient and intelligent - something he needs in a pet. LOL_


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Here's the next chapter, and I'll be putting Four up as well. Thanks to **sherry57** for reviewing already! Darn, you're quick! LOL Hope you enjoy the story!_

_Oh, and before I forget...DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own any of the characters mentioned. If I did, I'd be a *very* happy woman. (Dreamy sigh here)_

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

There were hands touching him.

They were cool, gentle hands, smoothing his hair back from his forehead and covering his shivering body with a blanket.

Then the hands were gone, and a voice drifted toward him, little more than an unintelligible whisper. He longed to see who was there, but his eyes refused to open, and when he moved, the hands came back, pressing him against the ground. Eventually, he gave in to their firm but caring insistence, and fell back into slumber.

* * *

><p>It must have been nighttime. He could feel the cool breeze ruffling his hair, could hear the chirping of insects. He was too tired to open his eyes, but whoever was there with him knew he was awake. A soft hand – the same from before – rested on his shoulder, slowly rubbing comforting circles on his skin. Something about that hand was familiar, but he was in no mood to try and figure it out. He simply let them care for him, appreciating their coolness when his fever raged harder than ever. When his climbing temperature sent him into a seizure, he savored their feel as they wrapped around his hand, and as it ended and he flopped back on the ground, exhausted, he delighted in the feel of the velvety palms as they wiped the sweat from his face.<p>

Again, he struggled to speak, to do anything but lie there, but as soon as he stirred, a finger was pressed to his lips, and a whispering voice said, "Go back to sleep. You will be all right."

Though he longed to disobey the voice, he lay still, soon drifting back to his dreams.

* * *

><p>His fever had flared up again, soaking his entire body with sweat. He awoke shivering, desperately searching with his hands for some kind of covering – a blanket, a sheet, anything to ward off the chill. As if by magic, a thick, soft blanket was laid over him, its warmth instantly making him sleepy again, and once again his hair was pushed away from his forehead by the same cool fingers he'd come to love.<p>

His eyes finally fluttered open, but his vision was too blurry to see anything other than dim outlines. His sense of smell was fine, however, and the scent of jasmine and roses filled his nose, reminding him of home – of Atlantis.

He thought he heard Molly squawking nearby, as well as someone shushing her, but then all was quiet again, and the next time he opened his eyes, it was daylight.

* * *

><p>Humming.<p>

Whoever was there beside him was humming in a soft, feminine voice, and when they bent over him, their long hair brushed against his cheek. He caught another whiff of jasmine-rose perfume, and he smiled as the fog lifted from his mind and he finally realized who she was.

"Hi, Teyla," he croaked, then grimaced and cleared his throat.

Surprised by his sudden words, she jumped, then turned and smiled ruefully at him.

"Hello, John. It is good to see you awake."

He moved to sit up, but she placed one hand against his chest, forcing him to lie still. Favoring him with a small smile, she ducked her head to peer into his hazel eyes.

"Lie still. You need to gather your strength."

Glancing around at the tent she had most likely set up herself, he nodded, but asked, "Where is everyone?"

"Still on Atlantis, except for myself and Major Lorne. It was he who brought me here, after we had received your distress call. I followed your tracks from the damaged Jumper, but I lost them in the forest, and nearly became lost myself."

Puzzled, he frowned and asked, "Then how'd you find me?"

Teyla smiled and nodded toward his right. He turned his head in that direction, and saw a familiar flash of emerald green feathers, seated upon his black backpack.

"Molly," he breathed.

"Yes. If it had not been for your winged friend, you would surely have died, and I would still be lost."

As if she knew they were talking about her, Molly chirped and flapped her wings. Sheppard stared up at the tent's ceiling, frowning as he remembered the last time he'd been fully conscious.

"I tried to clean the infection out of my leg. I guess I lost too much blood, 'cause I felt myself passing out. The last thing I remember was telling Molly to get help."

At this, Teyla nodded solemnly. "And she did. I saw her sitting at the head of the trail to the beach, calling very loudly. When I reached her, I tried to hold my hand out to her, but she flew away again. I followed her cries down to the beach, and soon found you. Your leg was bleeding badly, and you were quite feverish. I cared for you these past three days, until this morning when the fever finally broke."

"They _were _your hands," he murmured, and she gazed at him, puzzled. Grinning, he explained, "The first time I woke up, I could barely move, but I could feel a pair of hands touching me. I didn't know whose they were, but they felt familiar and somehow..." he ducked his head, embarrassed, "...safe."

"You were very ill, John." Her dark eyes stared disapprovingly at him. "Why did you not properly care for the wound, before the infection set in?"

He smiled as he recalled imagining this very same question.

"No water," he told her with a shrug. "Believe me, Teyla, if I could have, I would have."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, wondering why he had smiled. Then, she nodded and said, "Very well. I believe you."

He watched as she suddenly tapped the radio in her ear and said, "Yes, Major."

She listened for a while, then replied, "Very well. I shall remain here with the colonel until you return."

With an audible click, she shut off the radio, then turned to Sheppard and said, "Major Lorne has informed me that Dr. McKay has picked up some Wraith activity on a nearby planet. He is going to take the Jumper and rendezvous with a team of Marines in a second Jumper to, as he said, 'Take them out.'"

Sheppard's eyes widened at this, and he started to get up. Teyla pushed him back again, her palm firm on his bare chest.

"Where do you think you are going?" She asked him.

"To help Lorne."

She shook her head. "I do not think that is wise, John. Your strength has not fully returned yet."

He gave her his best puppy-dog look. "I'll be fine. Please, Teyla."

"No," she said, her tone firm. "The major can handle the Wraith. You will remain here."

He thought about challenging her, but then quickly decided against it. She never had a problem kicking his ass on his best day; if he dared to try now, she'd definitely put him down, all without breaking a sweat.

Finally, he nodded and leaned back. "Okay. You win."

"Thank you."

They sat in amicable silence for a while, each consumed by their own thoughts. One such thought seemed to jostle Teyla back into the present, and she suddenly asked, "Are you hungry?"

Sheppard shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned even as his stomach growled loudly. "I could eat. What've you got?"

"Not much, I am afraid. I tried to make some soup, but it seems I am not meant to cook at all."

"Can't be that bad," he said as she propped a pillow behind him so he could sit up. "Let me try some."

Teyla wrinkled her nose. "That is not a good – "

"Just, come on," he interrupted, and she sighed and threw her hands up in the air.

"All right." She poured him a bowl of soup, pulled out her multi-tool, and handed both to him. He took them with a smile, settling the bowl in his lap. Teyla filled her mug with water and set it nearby, as Sheppard tentatively took a spoonful of the soup and tipped it into his mouth. The broth was warm, and it soothed his scratchy throat. He swallowed, and though there was a slightly bitter aftertaste, he decided that it wasn't all that bad.

"It's good," he said, shoveling a second, then a third, spoonful into his mouth.

She eyed him suspiciously. "You are only saying that to be kind."

He raised his eyebrows, and then as a silent reply, lifted the bowl to his lips and drank its entire contents. When the bowl was drained of all liquid, he set it down beside him and sighed in satisfaction, then smiled at her.

"Now, what were you saying?"

Her lips curved in a smile. "Very well. I am glad you enjoyed it."

Molly whistled, reminding Teyla of her presence, and she told Sheppard, "Oh, and I have already tended to Molly. She ate heartily of the berries and nuts I picked for her."

He nodded, blinking slowly. He suddenly felt very tired again but fought it hard, not wanting to miss anything. Teyla noticed, and though she refrained from rolling her eyes, he could hear an audible huff from deep in her chest. Leaning forward, she fluffed his makeshift pillow – a simple, folded blanket – and then helped him lie down.

Although he allowed her to do so, he whined, "I'm not tired, really. I just need to rest my eyes a minute."

She pulled his blanket up over his chest and peered down at him, her hand resting lightly against the warm woolen surface. "That is fine, but I would feel better if you slept, if only for a little while."

He nodded silently and closed his eyes, snuggling down into the blanket's warmth. When she was sure he was comfortable, she moved to clear away his soup bowl, but he quickly slapped his own hand over hers, trapping it against her chest. Surprised, she looked back at him, but he kept his eyes shut as he explained, "Believe it or not, it helps me fall asleep."

Hiding a smile just in case he was peeking out under his thick, dark lashes, she replied, "Very well. I will stay until you are sleeping."

Seemingly happy with her decision, he took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Teyla gazed down at the hand covering hers, following the lines of his knuckles, the few scars that streaked across the skin, looking like comet's tails. She liked the few stray dark curls of hair that gathered near his wrist, and the pale half-moon crescents of his nail-beds. She had just noticed a fairly large scrape on the edge of his hand when he said, "I really wanna go home, Teyla. This planet sucks." Then, he frowned in thought. "Well, except for Molly."

"John, hush," Teyla said, pressing the pointer finger of her free hand to his lips. "We will be home very soon. Now, rest."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied around her finger. Peeking one eye open, he found Molly and said, "See, told ya you reminded me of her."

Molly fluttered down off his pack and landed on his uninjured leg. Cocking her head to the side, she blinked once and then rubbed her head against him. He reached down and put his hand out, and she nuzzled his palm, bringing a smile to both his and Teyla's faces. When she flew back to her usual perch, he settled down into his bed and closed his eyes. Her hand still against his chest, Teyla sat beside him, and with a final sigh of contentment, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Darkness fell around them, and Lorne had still not returned with the Jumper. The air was chilly as it blew inside the tent, raising goose bumps on Sheppard's arms and legs. Quietly, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and then sneaked toward the front door, careful not to wake Teyla, who slept near the door. He had almost made it outside when Molly squawked, and Teyla's head jerked up. She immediately saw Sheppard, his torso already on the other side of the tent, and she cleared her throat just loudly enough to let him know that he'd been caught.

Sheppard's messy hair ducked back inside, a sheepish smile on his face. "Hey, there," he greeted her.

At first, all she did was raise her eyebrow at him. Then, she asked, "Where do you think you were going?"

"Um…" he scratched the back of his head. "The, uh, facilities?"

As her eyebrow arched ever higher, he blew out a breath and said, "The bathroom, Teyla. Gotta pee like a racehorse."

Finally, she understood, and got to her feet. "Oh. Do you need help?"

"No!" he nearly shouted. "No, I think I can manage, thank you. Just…if you could, give me a light? It's pretty dark out."

Even before he finished speaking, he heard her rustling around, and then something cold and metallic touched his hand. As his fingers curled around the slick, rounded shape, he realized it was a flashlight, and he soon found the button that switched it on. He aimed the beam outside, its light a round, white circle on the dirt just beyond the tent door, and shuffled painfully through the flaps. Teyla watched him carefully, gasping when he nearly tripped on the lower flap of the door. She followed him outside, her hands wrapped over her bare shoulders and her teeth trying not to chatter in the cool night air. He glanced down and noticed that her feet were also bare, her toes painted a pretty shade of pale pink.

"I will wait for you here," she assured him, and he nodded and made his way into the surrounding trees. He returned a few minutes later, breathing a deep sigh of relief, the light from the torch bobbing around on the ground in front of him. His leg must have begun to ache again, as he was limping slightly, but Teyla held her peace. She knew that if she brought it up, he would only brush off her concern, giving her his best roguish smile.

He had almost made it to her side when he tripped over a hidden root, and stumbled forward. He fell hard against her and they both toppled to the ground, with her underneath him. At first, they were so startled that neither of them moved. Then Teyla giggled nervously, and he could not keep from joining her. Soon they were both laughing loudly, building to hysteria when he failed numerous awkward attempts at standing up with his injured leg.

When they had settled down again, Sheppard's gaze turned soft, and he gently brushed a dirty leaf from her cheek. Her breath hitched in her chest as his fingers grazed her skin, and her brown eyes blinked slowly, watching his every move. Time seemed to slow to a crawl; in the beam of the flashlight, she could see each hair at his forehead move as they ruffled in the cool breeze, and she smelled the crisp scent of the grass underneath her, felt each exhale of his warm breath on her face. She longed to reach up and trail her fingers down the side of his scrubby-bearded face, but she forced herself to remain still. Though they were only mere centimeters apart, his eyes were guarded, his thoughts hidden from even her most perceptive probing.

"Sorry," he finally said, his voice oddly breathless. "Goddamn trees are tryin' to kill me."

She smiled at this. "It is all right, John."

"You hurt?"

"No." Though she shook her head, her eyes never left his. "Are you?"

"Nope. Well, except my leg, but it was already like that."

He managed to scramble backward off her, and she pushed herself upright. Rather than stand, however, she merely crossed her legs and sat in the grass, far from eager to return to the tent just yet. Sheppard picked idly at the dew-covered blades, suddenly at a loss for words. There was so much he wanted to say, but nothing sounded just right, and it left him feeling frustrated.

Teyla was the one to break the silence. "I am glad that I found you. I was so afraid when I saw you lying there on the beach. I thought…"

"I know. I'm glad, too," he interrupted. He didn't want to hear her say the words. He didn't even want to think about what had almost happened.

She fell silent and just watched him, her dark eyes wide, curious. When she suddenly shivered, he said, "We should get back inside, get some sleep."

"In a moment, perhaps," she agreed hesitantly. "The night is so beautiful. I wanted to enjoy it for a little while longer."

She shivered again, and he chuckled. "You can't enjoy it if you're shivering like that."

"I am fine."

Without another word, he slid over until he was beside her, and she leaned her shoulder against him. The hair on his bare chest tickled her skin, but he was warm, and she glanced up and gave him a grateful smile. He grinned back at her, the dimple on his right cheek deepening ever so slightly, and she found herself once more holding her breath. Even in the poor light, despite the bruises and scrapes, his face was so handsome that she could barely control her thoughts.

"You know," he said then, right at her ear, "I almost named the bird after you."

His words were so unexpected that Teyla burst out laughing. "Really?" She asked finally.

He nodded. "Yep. She kept squawking at me, just like you do when I go and do something dumb and get hurt."

"Yes, well," she replied, "you often deserve it."

He nudged her playfully at that. "Only because I'm such a Big Damn Hero." She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips told him all he needed to know. His eyes returned to their former, serious expression. "Of course, if she hadn't been there for me, I would've been dead. Just like you've been here for me now, and so many other times before."

Without thinking, she reached down and grasped his hand in hers, lightly squeezing his fingers. Just as thoughtlessly, he lifted her hand to his mouth and gently kissed her knuckles, then set both of their twined hands back on her lap. His brow furrowed then, and he asked, "Where the hell is Lorne?"

Teyla shook her head. "I am not sure. He has been gone a long time." Her eyes scanned the black forest beyond. "I hope he has not gotten into trouble."

"You have your radio?"

"Yes, in the tent." She moved to rise, but his hand tightened around hers.

"Just wait a minute."

She looked up at him, his features upside down from this angle, and frowned in confusion. "But I thought…"

"We'll try and contact him, yeah. But it's so quiet here. It's…" he swallowed against the panic rising in his bruised chest. Feelings and Sheppard went together like oil and water, and this particular type sent him into a very special variety of flailing helplessness. Forcing his voice to stay level, he said, "It's nice, being here with you."

Her frown softened, her lips curving upward now, and she leaned back against him, her hair tickling his nose. "It is nice being here with you, as well."

"Somehow, I think you're just being nice. It can't have been too fun, dragging my unconscious body all the way up here..."

Teyla shook her head. "John, you are far too modest sometimes. We are teammates, friends. It is always my honor to be able to care for you."

He peered down into her eyes again, and saw the honesty held within them. Her openness surprised him, and he found himself stuffing the panicked feeling back down, only this time it was not so strong. It mingled with a different sensation – a warm tingling that started in his stomach and ran both up his body and down simultaneously. This feeling he recognized all too well, and though it felt good to entertain it, he carefully shoved it back, too. She had said it herself, after all: they were friends. Good friends, very close friends, actually, but that was all they were. All they would be. Oh, he wanted more – the wild beating of his heart was proof enough of that – but he would not jeopardize their friendship over his physical desire, no matter how hot it burned in him.

"John?" he heard her ask then, and he blinked.

"Yeah."

Her hand went to his cheek, her cool fingertips pressing into his skin, lightly scratching his stubble. She grinned at the feel of his prickly beard, but when she saw the battle raging in his gaze, her smile faded.

"What is wrong?"

He licked his lips and stared up at the red moon overhead. "Nothing."

Teyla pushed away from him and turned around, so that she was kneeling in front of him. Placing her hands on either side of his outstretched legs, she shook her head. "I do not believe you." She scooted forward on her knees, the equivalent of a single step. "Tell me, please."

Sheppard leaned back, nervously searching for an escape. When he found none, he sighed in resignation. "I...I was just thinkin' about TJ, is all. About how he must miss you, and how I'm keepin' you out here, away from him."

"But you are not. I came out here on my own, because I was afraid for you." She sat back on her heels, and he straightened as well. "Besides, Torren has many caregivers on Atlantis. He will be just fine until _we_ return."

Her eyebrow lifted in her trademark way, and she tipped her head to the side. "That is not what you were thinking about, however. Is it?"

_Damn her perceptive nature_, he thought. Aloud, he said, "No. I was really thinking about that time when I almost turned into a Wraith-bug."

Now she was even more curious. "What of it?"

He went back to playing with the grass, pulling it up three and four blades at a time, and then by handfuls that he pushed into the shape of a bird's nest, sticking his hand in the middle to hollow it out. At length, he asked, "Do you remember that day in the gym, the first and last time I actually pinned _you_ for a change?"

Teyla nodded, subconsciously touching her fingers to her lips. She could almost feel the way they had tingled when he had kissed her that afternoon, his tongue thrusting possessively against hers as he greedily tasted her. Though she had resisted at first, it was only because she had been caught off-guard. She would be lying if she said that part of her had not enjoyed it at all.

"Yes," she managed, just above a whisper. She cleared her throat. "Yes, I do remember."

"Well, I know I apologized for taking advantage of you like that, but..."

She waited for more than a few moments, allowing him to speak at a pace he would be comfortable with. If she pushed him, she knew he would clam up, stuff his emotions back into whatever dark place in his mind that he kept them. It was usually best to just listen, even if it sometimes took an hour for him to say something anyone else could have said in five minutes. This time, however, when he did not finish his sentence, she reached out and lightly touched his hand.

"But what, John?"

He jolted at her touch, as if she had electricity running through her veins, and then seemed to recall that he had stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence. "Oh," he said, "right. Well, the honest truth is that I wasn't sorry."

As her lifted eyebrow traveled higher, he stuttered out, "Wait, wait, that's not what I meant. I mean, I _was_ sorry that I was so rough with you, and I didn't even try to find out if you wanted me to kiss you. But I wasn't sorry I kissed you. It was...I liked it."

He watched as she did her best dumbstruck-Rodney impression, his pulse accelerating to near light-speed. He couldn't stand the silence. It felt like disapproval to him, just as it had when he had been young and got into trouble. He would stand on one side of his father's desk, and his father would sit in the desk chair and stare at him for what seemed like hours. Sheppard would have rather had his father yell at him, ground him – just do something besides sit there with a disappointed look on his face. But no, he never yelled – not until Sheppard was a teenager, at least – just scowled at him and took away one of his toys or privileges.

Sweat drops started to stand out near his hairline. He felt that if he did not break the silence soon, he would go crazy, and so he started talking again.

"And, that sounded really stupid. Really, John? Could you be any more awkward? See, this is why I don't talk about feelings. They always seem to come out sounding wrong and weird, and I start acting like an idiot teenager again, all goofy and..."

Teyla shook her head then. "I know what you meant, John, and it is not stupid." Shifting her position slightly, she turned to gaze straight at him. "I suppose I should also tell you..."

She was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a Jumper flying toward them, and as the Jumper appeared in the clearing and began to descend onto the grass, Sheppard muttered, "Great timing, Lorne." Teyla smiled. She, too, was disappointed that the major had returned at just that moment.

As the Jumper powered down, Sheppard flopped backward with a heavy sigh. "Damn. I guess the camping trip's over."

Teyla smiled. "I feel the same. But we really should get you home."

_Home_. The word was such a small one, and yet just the sound of it soothed his ears like the gentle waves of the ocean. Atlantis, his home, awaited him like a long-lost lover, and he could barely wait until he was back in her calming embrace. He missed her ever-present hum in the back of his mind, sometimes seeming to actually speak in words to him, lulling him to sleep on rough nights, promising him that she would always be there for him.

Lorne stepped off the Jumper and practically ran over to where Sheppard and Teyla sat, his brows drawn together in concern.

"Colonel," Lorne said, forgoing the customary salute. "Sorry we're late. Ran into a little trouble with the Wraith."

Sheppard chuckled. "What else is new? Good to see you, Major."

He held out his hand, and Evan shook it. "Not as good as it is to see you, sir. We almost thought you were a goner a few days ago."

"Me, too," Sheppard replied with a nod. Then he turned to Teyla. "Why don't we all get the tent packed up, and we can get the hell outta here?"

"That is fine, Colonel," she said, switching back to his formal name in front of Evan. "But Major Lorne and I can handle the tent."

"You sure?"

Teyla nodded. "Of course, you will need to retrieve your bird friend first."

Sheppard snapped his fingers. "I can't believe I forgot!" Standing up, he managed to hobble over to the tent and peeked his head inside. "Molly!"

The bird chirped once, and after a quick rustle of feathers, she was again perched on Sheppard's shoulder. He reached up and rubbed his finger over her sleek head, and she rubbed her beak against his cheek.

"I'll be damned," Lorne exclaimed as he watched them. "I'll never figure out how you got a wild bird to become your pet so quick."

Sheppard shrugged. "I guess she just knew I needed her." He shot a meaningful look over at Teyla, who smiled softly in return.

"Well, seems like you got a friend for life."

Lorne began pulling the tent stakes out of the ground, and he and Teyla managed to pack up the camp in a matter of minutes. When they were certain they had everything, Lorne volunteered to go first in line, as he had a stronger flashlight, and Sheppard readily agreed. He was finished tripping over every bit of nature he encountered.

"Grab a seat, sir, and we'll get you back to Atlantis asap."

"Sounds good, Major," Sheppard replied as he reflexively reached up to hit the rear hatch control. His arm burned in protest, and with a sudden shout he quickly pulled it against his chest, cradling it with his other arm. Now, Teyla couldn't hide her frustration; huffing a sigh, she jostled him aside and pushed the control. As the hatch slowly raised up and locked into place, she took his shoulders and steered him to the co-pilot's chair, then adjusted it until it was leaning as far back as it would go. With a frown of concentration between her brows, she stood up and tested that it was safe. When it held her weight, she nodded and then pushed him down into it. Molly shrieked and flew off his shoulder, landing on the console in front of him instead.

"Teyla, you don't have to..."

"Be quiet," she snapped. "Stop pretending you can do everything, and let us take care of you."

"But...but..."

Ignoring his stuttered protests, she moved back to the rear section and dug around in the compartments, then came back to where he sat, a white pillow in her hands. She reached down and took his head in one of her hands, gently pulling him forward, and slipped the pillow behind his head. When he was settled, she looked to Lorne.

"Let me know if he moves."

The major nodded, his eyes wide. "Yes, ma'am."

"What're you gonna do if I do?" Sheppard asked her, his eyes narrowed in what he hoped came across as curiosity, but was actually nervousness.

"Sedate you," she said with a slight lift of her shoulder. "Jennifer has been teaching me a few simple procedures. I am certain I could 'knock you out' for the entire trip, if need be."

Lorne bit the inside of his cheek to hide a smile. Teyla was a sweet lady, very gentle in most cases, but boy, she could be a tough cookie. He figured that had to do more with dealing with Sheppard and McKay than anything else.

Sheppard stared at her until he was completely certain that she was serious, and then nodded. "Fair enough." Glancing sideways at Lorne, he said to him, "I think I'm gonna take a little cat-nap. Wake me up when we get home."

Lorne nodded. "You got it, sir."

After performing a few routine tasks, he brought up the HUD and plotted their course back to Atlantis. As Sheppard drifted in and out of slumber, Lorne glanced back at Teyla, who smiled conspiratorially at him. Surprised, he grinned back, finally understanding her actions. She had pulled a bluff on Sheppard, and, even more surprising, he had fallen for it.

Lorne chuckled out loud then. Apparently, even after five years with Teyla, Sheppard could still be completely fooled by her.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: So, this is the final chapter (at least for now), and I know it's short. I never really meant for this story to be super long, anyway, as it was just a teeny idea I had in the first place. Oh, and since I have you here, let me explain a few things. Some people have wanted to know why John was alone in the first place...why the whole team didn't rescue him...well, some of that is explained in this chapter. As to the rest - here is my explanation..._

**_It's just a story. _**

_That's it. No "everyone was busy"-type things, or "he went on one of his little rogue missions". My brain just said, "Hey, let's write about what would happen if John crashed a Jumper on an isolated planet, and got injured in the crash. Fun, right?" And I said, "Sure. Let's do that!"_

_So, if that's not a good enough reason, well, I apologize. But sometimes my brain can't handle making up a whole huge story, and so I have to pick and choose which details to have fun with. I mean, it is Science **Fiction**, after all._

_Okay, back to the story...Please enjoy, and feel free to leave a review! _

* * *

><p>Chapter Five<p>

The infirmary was mostly dark, the only light coming from the lamp above Sheppard's bed. In his hands was his copy of _War and Peace_, and though his eyes scanned the words on the page, he comprehended nothing. Deciding he was too tired to read, he stuck the bookmark into the book and set it aside. He was reaching for the light switch when someone walked into the room.

"Hey, you're awake!"

Sheppard turned toward the voice and smiled. "Hi, Rodney!"

McKay pulled a rolling chair over to the bedside and flopped down into it. "Jennifer says you'll be out of here tomorrow morning, but I wanted to come and check on you tonight."

Sheppard nodded. "Well, thanks. It's so quiet in here tonight. Feels like a morgue." He managed to shudder even as a grin worked its way across his face.

McKay smiled back. "I hear ya. So, I read the report on what happened. Sorry I couldn't go with Teyla and Lorne, by the way. I had to fix a mess that naturally, the other, less-educated scientists created."

"It's okay, Rodney. I'm just glad to be back." Then, he quirked his eyebrow and glanced around. "Where's Molly?"

"Molly?" McKay asked. "Oh, you mean the bird."

"Yeah, the bird. Where is she?"

Rodney waved for him to calm down. "Teyla's got 'er in her room. Said something about them having built up a rapport while you were all camping out on the planet."

Sheppard held up his hand. "Hey, we were not 'camping'," he protested, though he himself had said as much only hours before. "Trust me, it was not fun in the least bit."

"Uh, I never said camping was fun, either. I actually find it to be tedious and taxing, sleeping in a tent instead of my nice, specially-made bed."

"Of course you would, McKay," Sheppard chuckled. "Anything that involves nature seems to get you running the opposite way."

Rodney grinned. "Yes, it does, my friend. And for good reason – do you know how many different kinds of germs there are in one inch of soil? You'll never look at dirt the same way again, I can guarantee that."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I spent most of my little 'trip' either in pain, or sleeping."

As Sheppard shifted to get comfortable, Rodney thought about what he had said. Then, he shook his head. "No. No, actually, it doesn't." He stood to pace around at the end of the bed. "I should've gone with you. I could've helped you fix the Jumper..."

"The Jumper was totaled, Rodney. There's nothing you could've done."

The physicist's hands fluttered helplessly. "Still, I could've figured out a way..."

"Rodney!" Sheppard cried then, and the other man stopped pacing to stare at him. Holding back a sigh of frustration, Sheppard lowered his voice and said, "Listen, none of this is your fault. I know you want to find some way to feel guilty, but you can't."

"But you were hurt. You could've been killed."

Sheppard nodded. "And so could you, if you'd been there."

Rodney gazed at him for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Right."

Rodney dropped back into the chair next to Sheppard, slouching so much that his spine actually looked like a half-circle. Sheppard reached out and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, a slight smile on his lips. "Besides, thanks to Teyla and Molly, I'm alive and healing up, so...it all worked out."

"Your optimism is never-ending," Rodney said, half-sarcastically. "And, speaking of women, how is it that you get lucky enough to have not just one, but two females looking after you? That is so totally unfair!"

Sheppard lifted an eyebrow. "Rodney, you are aware that one of them is a bird, right?"

"Yes, I am," Rodney snapped. "But still. Every time something happens to me, I get stuck with you or Ronon dragging me around. Just once, I want to be rescued by a beautiful woman."

Sheppard's face suddenly turned serious. Removing his hand, he said softly, "You already were, McKay."

"Oh, yeah? By whom?"

"Keller."

Rodney pondered this, and then ducked his head sheepishly. "Yes," he replied, "yes, I suppose she did."

Sheppard tried a smile, but it failed to reach his eyes. "You're a lucky man, Rodney. Don't forget it."

"I won't." Then, to lighten the mood, he said, "Hey, you know it's not too late for you. There could be someone here in the City..."

Though his mind drifted to Teyla, recalling the way she had leaned against him outside their tent on the planet, Sheppard replied, "Nah. Too much work. I'll just stick with Molly."

"Okay, that's just weird," Rodney scoffed. He checked his watch and then shrugged apologetically. "Well, I'd better get going. See you for breakfast?"

"Here's hoping Keller lets me out by then," the colonel replied.

"Well, If not, I'll snag something for you and stash it in my lab til you get out of this prison."

This made Sheppard laugh aloud. "It's not a prison, McKay. It's an infirmary."

"Yeah, whatever. That's just what they've conditioned you to think."

Sheppard laughed again. "Go to bed, Rodney; you're getting crabby from lack of sleep."

"Haven't you noticed, Sheppard?" Rodney asked, sounding peevish though he smiled broadly. "I'm always crabby."

As he watched his friend leave the room, Sheppard recalled Rodney's comment about finding a woman on Atlantis. If he was honest, he had thought about that exact thing quite a bit since the beginning of the expedition, often taking the opportunity to ask one woman or another on base to dinner. And then, there was Chaya, and – if he felt extremely generous – Larrin; but each time he pondered over the qualities he wanted in a woman, only one face came to mind.

"How are you feeling, John?"

Sheppard's head swiveled toward the door again. Teyla stood there, with TJ in her arms and a questioning look in her eyes. He smiled and waved her over.

"I'm okay, thanks."

Now that she stood beside him, he could see that TJ was awake. Loud smacking noises emanated from the baby as he sucked on his curled fist, and Sheppard grinned wider. The kid was always hungry, it seemed.

"You sure he isn't Ronon's kid?" He asked her, and she threw her head back and laughed.

"I am sure." Then, she quickly added, "And he is not Rodney's, either. I have heard nearly every variation of that particular joke."

"I bet."

"I was wondering, if you are not in too much pain..."

Gesturing for her to hand the baby over, he interrupted, "I'm not. Give 'em here."

She set Torren into Sheppard's waiting arms, and the baby immediately grinned as he recognized the man holding him. Sheppard smiled back and gently ruffled the boy's wispy black hair.

"Hey, pal," he greeted TJ quietly. "What's new?"

Torren cooed up at him, causing both Teyla and Sheppard to laugh. Snuggling Torren closer to his chest, Sheppard pointed at the chair beside the bed, and she sat down in it. When she was comfortable, he gazed at her and said, "I know I said this already, but...thank you for coming after me, Teyla."

She nodded. "You are welcome. And as I said before, it is what friends do for each other."

He let her comment go unanswered, his eyes once again locked onto Torren. The baby was falling asleep, the tiny fingers of one hand curled around Sheppard's pinkie. As Teyla's son drifted off, Sheppard looked up and suddenly asked, "Where's Kanaan?"

The way she wrinkled her nose was so cute that Sheppard had to bite his tongue to keep from remarking on it. "Gone to the Settlement. It is planting time now, and he is quite talented in that regard."

"I take it you don't enjoy it near as much," he said, and she shook her head.

"No, I do not. It is tedious work."

"So how long's he gonna be gone?"

She frowned. "I am not certain. Perhaps three days."

They sat in silence together, completely at ease with the quiet between them. It was a practiced ease, borne out of hours of "forced" companionship on long missions, and of their team movie nights spent eating popcorn out of their favorite green bowl. He laid his head back against the pillow and shut his eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Sitting there, with Torren sleeping in his arms, he felt completely happy.

"Molly is doing quite well here," Teyla said then, a smile brightening her features. "Although she definitely misses you."

"I miss her, too. But I'll see her in the morning."

"Jennifer is letting you out then?"

He nodded, his eyes still closed. "You know how much she hates keeping me in here any longer than the minimum."

Teyla's smile widened. "Yes, because you are always such a terrible patient."

He grinned at the exasperated tone she used. "Can't help it. Too much to do...can't be laying around here, useless."

She rolled her eyes, unaware that he had cracked his eyelids slightly and now peeked at her through them. "John, I hardly think that healing from an injury can be considered 'lying around'. It is important that you heal properly, and resting is often the best way to accomplish that." Now, she did see his half-opened eyes, and stared directly into them. "Even if it is boring."

"Party pooper," he said, and they both chuckled lightly.

They let another pause hang between them, until Sheppard yawned reflexively. Teyla grinned and reached for her son, who was now sleeping so soundly that he did not notice the change of hands.

"Get some rest, John," she said to him. "I am glad to see you are better."

As he shifted into a more comfortable position, she cautiously reached over and ruffled his unruly dark hair, and he shut his eyes as visions of his mother swam before him once more. Many people over the years had touched him in the same manner, but only Teyla could do it just as his mother had. The way her fingertips pushed through the dark strands was exact, especially when they angled down and to the left, to caress his bangs. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from letting her see how it affected him, instead glancing up at her and murmuring, "'Night, Teyla."

"Good night, John."

She started to leave, but he called, "Tell TJ and Molly good night for me."

Turning to look at him, she replied, "I will. I promise."

The smile she gave him just before she exited the room was as bright as the sun. Sheppard sighed and lay back.

It was good to be home.


End file.
